The man rants and raves.
What dare I do
but accommodate him
as the TV is doing
as the TV is designed to do?

Tweep! A message arrives
on my phone: it’s her
wishing to cheer me

but the words (as those so very different ones
spewed out on the TV)
have lost their lives, their power, their meaning
they float past me, before me,
devoid of anything that can help
anything to bring a positive change

O, my caregiver
what dream have we lost, seen collapse into
electronic whisper, media fantasy?

but my brain still runs away with itself
thick with lurid Caligula fantasies
and I ask myself: what’s the location
of the grounded politics here?

oh this incessant sexual battle between angel and devil
why do they not just throw each other down from their
respective high horses, learn
to grovel a bit, fuck, cohabit?

what a great literary scene it would be of
these two in ( or on) a bed
getting down and dirty
taking time to negotiate
what is celestial,
poetic

in terms of bargain being
renewed: the one that started
this all, determined frame
of reference
how it would all fall, come down to our level
the great triadic enigma
of good, evil, and
simple lust for life, as pure energy of being